


Companion

by Sabrina_Phynn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabrina_Phynn/pseuds/Sabrina_Phynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scarf expresses her love and her reason for existing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Companion

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Coat of a Single Colour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/210420) by [incapricious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/pseuds/incapricious). 



Title: Companion  
Author: [](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**sabrinaphynn**](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/)  
Pairing: John/Sherlock (well, if you squint) Coat/Scarf, established  
Rating: G; nothing but fluffy love  
Warnings: suspend your logical side?  
Wordcount: 1000 - ish  
Summary: The Scarf expresses her love and her reason for existing.  
Team: Passion  
(Tropetastic fic written for Holmesverse Minibang...)  
Based on these tropes from here [](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Series/Sherlock)  
1) Scarf Of Ass Kicking  
Which produces the following effects:  
2) Badass Baritone  
3) Brief Accent Imitation  
********  
thanks to [](http://incapricious.livejournal.com/profile)[**incapricious**](http://incapricious.livejournal.com/) for letting me literally ride on coattails with this.  
[Check out the Coat](http://incapricious.livejournal.com/219454.html)  
********  
When the right material and the right human coalesce, they create the most extraordinary object, all the more wondrous, for being hidden in plain sight. I am one of those things, or at least the material half. I am Sherlock's scarf. Yes, you heard me right. That scarf. Don't pretend you didn't see me.  
I was woven for him. It happened a long time ago, in the center of a dark forest, by birds the world has never seen, at the request of a long-seeing coven whose name is only whispered at the darkest hour of the night. Though my companion, Coat, was an outright gift to Sherlock, I came by more subtle means. I was handed to his older brother by a strange woman on a trip to Hungary. She had the bright eyes of the birds that gathered my threads, old at first glance, then suddenly vibrant and young at the next, the allure of a sorceress tucked under her shawl like the concealed weapon that it is. My threads are many and varied; I have a single long black thread borrowed from another scarf, picked up from the banks of the Thames back in Victoria's heyday, washed clean of deadly poison, lost into the water by the removal of a dart most deadly. There is a thread of intense azure, infused by opera, laughter and flirting, the color intensified by the intense joie de vivre of the woman of whose gown it once embroidered. Another, somehow spun from hives long dormant near Sussex, glittering with bees wings and sticky from the wax. There are bamboo fibers from Tibet, silk from Japan, a single strand of Mummy's hair. Alas, most of my bulk is mere cashmere, but then there are the traces of a rare fibre, its origin never noted, that are the key to assisting Sherlock. Those are what keep me intact year after year.  
I found Mycroft distasteful, a bitter and silent tower, all secrets kept and used. He certainly never needed my influence for persuasion. To be fair, he did not find me to his liking either, using me only when absolutely necessary. ('Tis best I do not talk about that, ever. ) And so I was tucked away at the bottom of a drawer for years, ready to for discovery when the time was right. It might have been a lifetime ago, or perhaps yesterday. Sherlock likes to say he stole me, but I know better. He saved me. I was dying in that dark, cedar lined coffin, bit by bit, crumbling from the quiet heartbreak of abandonment.  
Enough of the maudlin musings. I now am useful. I have Coat to cheer me and keep me company. Coat is much more jovial than I. Sometimes a bit dramatic for my tastes, but Coat never failing in his efforts to keep us sustained. He cracks jokes with Skull when we are home, whispers endearments to me in the dark, teasing me into a wrinkled mess of giggles after a long chase. I am more than content these days. I wrap myself around the fact that we are a team, acting as armor for the battle and useful in fighting the petty evils of the world and working towards truth, pushing Sherlock to be great.  
How, you might ask? Most of it is a mystery, even to me. I think there must be some whimsical spell, twisted into those silvery threads of seemingly innocuous fabric, to improve the ability to convince and cajole others into revealing themselves. I also have the ability to soothe a sore throat, not a bad thing at all, given the way Sherlock drives himself to the edge all of the time. I can provide comfort in the form of a rich baritone; this is a rare, but increasing event. I shape an already exceptional voice into the most persuasive of tones. When we are all together and in top form- working with Sherlock, preferably after a comfortable cuddle by the fire with Coat and a spell or two obtained from Skull, I can also help guide the words spoken to get to the results that we are looking for, a push to encourage the already extraordinary mind to get the results needed at that time, suggesting tears, changing accents, means of getting into a flat.  
I enjoy being useful, and have, on occasion, gotten the chance to reciprocate being saved. Not terribly long ago, I pushed my healing abilities to the limit after being used against him. I was the weapon used to harm him, against my will, and as such, I immediately worked to make reparations. What should have landed him in the hospital with a severely bruised trachea resulted only in a few minutes hoarseness. I could do little but provide warmth for a few hours after that; the effort to restore him was enormous, even with Coat's support and assistance.  
We have been through much, trying to hold Sherlock together, Coat, Skull, and I; now we have gained a human ally along the way. The good doctor has done much to ease things for us - and Sherlock- in such a short time. Not that other humans have not tried to help, but for whatever reason, this seems to have worked. It may prove to be mutually beneficial. I feel optimistic that this is the start to a great partnership, but that may be Coat's influence. Perhaps someday I can assist John Watson for a time. He has such a lovely throat, and he makes Sherlock tea. Such kindness as Sherlock has seen little of since he was on his own.  
What I have noted of late is while Sherlock uses me as a barrier to keep others out, to prevent them from seeing the fragile soul within, he no longer feels that need while in John's presence. I am hopeful to see the emerging of the good man as well as the great, to quote Lestrade.  
~~ Fin~~~  



End file.
